We Are Misomaniacs Frerard
by SoBeRgAMzEe
Summary: Frank is spiraling down after a traumatic experience. He can't even bare to see sunlight. But on his 18th birthday, he runs away without a trace. Meeting Gerard at a train station and learning his way of revenge, He falls in love with the one person whom he believes can kill the men who stole his innocence. - Written by me and Kiva.
1. Preface

**DISCLAIMER;** Any lyrical reference is not my property. I do not own Gerard Way, Frank Iero, or any characters in this story, but yes, I wish I did. ****

Preface

Gerards POV.

It all started with the realization,

Everybody dies.

Our instinct supplies us with reassurance that we are some kind of exception, that death will never lay its cold, icy palm against our back, even though we are swimming one main stream, conforming to one lifestyle, we are taught that we are special. The cold hard truth, is that everyone is taken alive.

And unlike popular believe, love does know boundaries. Death does not.

In the hand of death, the subject of race, age, gender, sexuality, location, religion,and identification all fade into one fact. You are dead.

_Nothing _matters when you're dead.

And in the end it is just me.


	2. But does anyone notice?

Franks POV

Chapter 1

Seven hundred and twenty three. I've counted them all. Seven and hundred and twenty three embedded reminders of everything I've done wrong. Staring back at me. Scars. Puckering my skin from ankles to collar. They are reminders that I am alive. I just wish I could slip off my skin, scurry away fresh and unharmed.

But I will never forget, when every time I am touched, I am blinded by memories. Flushed with regrets. And anytime they ask me, no matter how hard they plea, I will not speak up.I will never let them look into my eyes.  
Because I am afraid.

'Frank, don't you think this has gone on long enough?'

I can't help it. If I speak up, they won't listen. All I can do is pull up my sleeves, dress my cuts, and keep it all inside. Because I don't want to be loved. After you've been beat, scarred, and bruised; pain doesn't affect you. Emotional trauma wants to claw it way out of your brain. The bright images of what has happened will always come across your vision, begging to be seen. At night when you shut your eyes you wish away the memories. Only to have them replay on repeat with high quality. It's so fucking real you can taste it, hear it, fucking feel it. Because it never goes away. It will never really leave you body, mind, or soul.

All of your feelings before anything had affected you were washed down the drain. Touches, even slight brushes by family or friends, irritate you.

You feel infected. You are infected. The bugs crawl under your skin, making you want to claw your skin off, crawl away. The scars are a constant reminder that you lived, when in all reality, was it worth to live at all? In a world where you feel the need to repel any form of love, it has no purpose. We were put on the earth for experiences, sadly, there are a couple experiences that were made to make your life a living hell.

My body aches. My throat is raw, like I've been screaming my lungs out nonstop since it happened. I haven't spoken a single word in god knows how long.

They liked it when I made noise. When I begged and pleaded for it to stop. The screeches of pain as the object collided again and again with my soft flesh. Tearing me open in more than physically.

Opening my mouth and letting sound coming forth is a sign of weakness. Those who choose to be around me will be ecstatic. They're little Frankie is getting better.

I'll never get better.

They can plead, and they can beg, but just like in my case; it will never actually do anything.

Soon I will be free. The doors will open, but the walls won't come down.  
I'd like to bang my head against the walls, dent the surface with my knuckles, but the walls are inside my head. I'll never let it out. No one will ever know how I feel. I don't mind much. I notice more than they do. I know more than they do. I've seen things I would never wish on my worst enemy. And I should be the only person to ever encounter them. You're only as sick as your secrets.

Sometimes I like to trace the scars. Re-open them. As much as I hate them, I can't stand to let them go because I know if they ever disappear, it will be like it never happened.

I'll always carry this burden around with no evidence to show that it never happened.

People will think I'm crazy.

They already think I'm crazy.

I'm not fucking crazy.

I am aware. I see things. I notice.

I watch.

and I need to get out.

I need to get away from these blind fucks who don't actually give a damn. After all, this town holds them. They're in this town right now. Somewhere. I just know it.

Maybe they don't understand that every time I look in a mirror, I see a body tragically left tattered by ruthless strangers. I see pale skin, veins, scars, big, round eyes that make me look vulnerable.

I spoke once before. When it all happened at first. I had spoken and they hadn't listened. I was wasting my breathe on words that they'd never understand.

I'm just a child in their eyes, and from what I've learned, children are not taken seriously.

I'll never be taken seriously. Therefore, I'll never speak.

It's as simple as that.

Most of the days, I wander around the house. I stopped calling it my house. I stopped calling anything mine. That all disappeared when poor little Frankie's soul was ripped away from him.

I wear long black pants and long sleeves. Though I feel like I need the scars to be present, it makes me sick to see them.

Regrets.

I fucking regret everything so much.

In essence, it was my fault.

I heard regret was a useless emotion. Whoever said that was never in my position.

Regret was all I had.

I didn't go outside. What was outside for me, anyhow. Everything is so bright. As though there's not a care in the world. Kids walk through these city streets unharmed, not knowing just how many dangers lurk in corners of their peer's minds, inside the shadows.

Sometimes I look out the window and watch them. I remember when I used to do that. I used to have friends. Good ones, who my parents approved of. Good friends are hard to find in a town like this. The bad people are the ones who are easy. They welcome you. They are always there. They understand you. It's great. Until they're not so nice anymore.


	3. A surprise party? For me?

Chapter 2

This party practically screams, 'I'm cliche.' It was right out of a story book.

Little Frankie gets a surprise party.

I'm turning eighteen and there's a fucking clown in my back yard. Both of my parents have worked their asses to the bone to treat me like a child and are disgustingly bashful about it. Like I'm going to let them in. Couldn't they see I can never get better? They don't understand me. They where never even close enough to protect me. So why celebrate me now? I have become a recluse, so what are they trying to prove to me?

I feel exploited. Exposed. Overburdened. Once again In a place to be a victim of the danger in my own back yard.

But I'm not ready to be shown to anyone. I am incondite. I am raw and ruined. Filled with angst.

My mom pretends to be cheery for the guests. My step dad with his half-assed, tacked up smile.

The guests. They act like everything is fine. Like nothing ever happened.

None of them try to get me to speak. They just talk. Talk about their lives. What I missed. Who's with who. Everything but me. Nobody talks about what happened because they're scared.

Hell. I'm scared.

No, not scared. Scarred. I'm scarred and they treat my situation delicately.

The only person here I'm really scared of is my nympho therapist.

I'd say I'm a good sport. I smile and nod at all the right places. I pretend to e surprised when they all jump out and tell 'surprise' even though I saw them running around through my window. I even use the little sign they made that says 'thank you(:' when I open the presents.

I open the presents in the first place.

They would be nice if it were for a different person.

All the items I got were too distant. Nothing was personal. Just things you would get for a distant relative.

I 'thanked' them anyways. After all, later they would be shoved under the bed. My important stuff in a suit case, clutched tightly in my hand.

I sat there while they all sang. Is waved when they left. I still wouldn't let them touch me. I even touched my moms shoulder before I went upstairs.

They thought I was going to bed.

Jokes on them.

Looks like they're the ones getting a surprise.

_Here alone, standing barefoot in our lawn,_

_Worms squeezing their way through my toes..._

_Tonight that's how it goes._

I've quickly pieced together all the disfigured pieces of my life into one suit case, padding the corners for the delicate thousands of dollars I've stolen from my moms sock drawer. I'll wait till midnight. And then, I'll go.


	4. Take to the Streets

Chapter 3

The crisp air nipping at my skin made every move into the night so much more real. Every car buzzing past me on the streets gave me hard blows of nostalgia, from when I used to freely roam the streets. I cringe every time a human-like shadow passes by or someone glances at me from across the street. I'm only a couple miles from my house now, and the more I try not to think about it, the more it invades my mind. I can taste freedom on my tongue, as bitter as leaving may be. Let me tell you, disappearing without a trace isn't so easy.

I briskly pondered the thought catching a cab from Newark to the city. I'm not sure I'd be able to handle all the people, jostling for position. Half a mind to duck into a sewer for the night. With a suitcase this big, I'm a moving target.

My jacket is tightly wrapped around me, nuzzling me in the cold. To me, it was like a war zone. Like a bomb had just gone off and I was enveloped in eerie silence, but with one misstep, I could be just another casualty.

It's past 4 am when I see the lights of the next city up ahead. Bright, yellow morning traffic lights begin to lead the way to the subway station. I have been delt a new hand of cards, and how joyful it was for me to finally get away. The grin on my face made my cheeks ache. I haven't felt this happy in a long time. Slowly, the heavy burden life as I knew it slowly slid off my back as I stepped into the bright lights. But the scars still stayed under my sleeves. They didn't ache with want of retracing, but they where there. And they always would be. No matter how far away I get.

The opening to the subway station was almost hidden behind a sleeping bum, gruffly snoring on the top step. I grasped the pole tightly in my hands, jumping down with surprising strength. It was a couple flights of stairs until I got to my runaway train, a 70 dollar trip taking me anywhere but here.

Looking around at the dark subway tunnel gives me the creeps, but in a way I like it. The mysterious setting, the quietness and dark shady surrounding, almost like something out of a horror genres graphic novel of some sort. This, this beaten up, rusty, fading and chipping, dirty trashy place somewhat reminds me of myself. In a way i guess we're all disgusting.

I used to be so used to it. I used to ride the subways all over the town. The town was mine.

Now I feel so foreign. Just fucking breathing felt too loud and unwanted. Nobody looked at me. Nobody spoke to me. They just crammed harder and harder into the small trans am.

I clutched my suitcase tightly to my chest, darting my eyes back and forth to other passengers.

It all looked so surreal. People in business attire, awkward kids who didn't fit in, old ladies clutching their purses, a few homeless people, the heavy metal kids, the drug dealers, the drug takers; they varied so greatly.

And yet, I could see how similar they were. Their movements the same. Not wanting to make eye contact. Not wanting to touch anything unwanted.

People noticed my stares. Now they also think I'm a freak, or crazy. Great.

I grab a nearby pole, steadying myself as the train picks up its course.

I don't know why they have windows. All they show you are the flashings of walls and lights. Dirty, grimy, moldy walls. It's not particularly the sight I always want to see.

For some time I watch the tracks. It makes me ponder the idea of how everything I've once seen can quickly slip under me like that. But not the incident. I will still remember every single one of their faces. I will remember every word they said. I will remember everything they did to me and I'm going to like it. Because I then finally have a reason for my suffering.

There are more stops to get to, but not much longer to New York city. It's nearing daylight hours. I'm anxious, more people will be boarding.

The doors slowly break apart and no one get on. I sigh in relief and look out the window, watching only moving lights. The rickety clanking of the subway sent me shivers. I heard the breaks screech, and the doors opened again.

More people are getting on.

I can't breathe.

Too many foreign bodies are touching me and I can't get away.

The air I'm breathing is tainted by people I don't know.

It's too much for me. Every slight touch or noise is setting me on edge.

Nobody will move when I shove them.

I need to get off.

They won't let me off.

"Excuse me." I croak out, pushing my way through. I just spoke. It'd been so long, I almost forgot what my voice sounded like. It scared me. I didn't just look ugly, I fucking sounded ugly.

I was so ugly.

I pushed harder, getting worried.

I didn't want it to happen, but I could feel my throat tighten and swell as my eyes were brimmed with tears.

I was fucking upset.

And I was right. I always thought, if I spoke; nobody would listen. That it was worthless.

And I was correct. I had just taken all my power to speak, and it went right through their ears. They didn't listen. They didn't care. And they didn't notice as everything went black around me, collapsing on something soft.

It felt like I was being shocked awake, when really, soft hands where softly caressing my tear-bloated, puffy cheeks.

"Who Are you?" I managed to speak out, voice scratchy and lower than I recall. My hero's face was fading into view. He was touching me. And I wasn't afraid.

I looked him straight in the eye. He stared right back in mine for a while before saying anything. They where marble like, even in the shadows there was not dark cast over them. His face was pale and relaxed, all pulling together at a slightly pinched nose.

"I'm Gerard."

He brushed back the hair on my face and smiled.

I relaxed in his arms.

"Next stop is Grand Central Station. I can tell by your suitcase and your youth that you have no where to go…"

I nodded. He was much older than me. Late 20's, I guess.

"Get off with me?"

I couldn't believe I was putting my life into someones hands so quickly. But I've never felt myself melt into someone's grasp like I was now.

It took a moment for me to collect my thoughts. But I nodded, smiled and pulled myself together.

"I'd be glad."


	5. It started out with a kiss

Chapter 4.

I didn't know what I was doing, or why. It seemed foolish of me to go with a complete stranger. But hell, he was the first person that made me feel real. I didn't care when he touched me. It felt good. I craved it.

His name was Gerard. It fit him, but then again, he was so mysterious and brooding, anything would have fit him.

We got off at the next stop, Gerard claimed he lived around here.

I believed him.

He actually wanted to be around me. He didn't know my story, nor did he even know my name.

It was like a dream come true.

I hadn't spoken since the train, I just stayed in his arms the remainder of the trip. Gerard didn't seem to mind.

It was dark, and my suit case was heavy, but as soon as Gerard saw my struggles, he sauntered over to me and grabbed my bag with a smile.

I let him take the luggage and shoved my hands in my pockets. All of this was so nostalgic. Just like before, when they..

No.

It's different.

I have to tell myself this man is just nice. He's too beautiful to do anything bad.

I won't regret again.

The house we walked up to seemed so normal. Too normal for the strange man smiling at me. It was on a quiet street, in a nice neighborhood. The paint looked fairly new. A nice blue color. Fuck, he even had pots of flowers.

Suddenly I trusted this man. Suddenly, his smile made my insides weak and my mouth drop.

For the first time, I actually studied this man.

This Gerard.. He was gorgeous.

His dark bangs splayed lightly across his forehead, causing shadows to dance across his eyes and cheekbones. His lips were a soft, pink color; but they turned down slightly at the ends, looking as I he was frowning. I could tell he was a smoker by the way his skin was taught and stretched over his bones slightly, also the small, baby-like, nicotine stained teeth.

His nose was slightly pointy and long, no major facial hair or skin blemishes.

And then I moved onto his eyes.

I almost got lost in them. They were a chocolate brown color from a distance, but as you got closer, you saw the green-gold hue to them. They were so amazing, I couldn't even describe them.

He was a man that shouldn't have been attractive, but was in every possible way.

Only when I felt my finger touch his soft cheek, did I notice I had stepped towards him a great amount.

Before I could pull my hand away and apologize, Gerard grabbed my hand and smiled.

I was caught off guard. He should be pissed. Some ugly, infected, monster was just touching his face.

But he seemed so genuine.

He did not let go of my hand, he only led my to the front door; unlocking it and letting us in.

I was scared to be let into his life so quickly. Every open door was a chance for me to get hurt. Every time he touched me, he was silently begging me to open up. But he didn't say it. He didn't bother me. He just led me inside and supported me. Just like I would ask for if I could.

The house looked beautiful. Or at least, I thought it did for a quick second. I couldn't really tell, seeing as how Gerard now had me cornered against a wall, still clutching my hand.

I swallowed hard and dry.

It's just like before.

They're so nice.

Until you're behind the safety of a door.

But then he did something so surprising, I almost choked.

"You're beautiful." he whispered as he curled a piece of hair around my ear. I looked down, blushing.

I'm not beautiful.

I'm sick.

But before he could go further, he pulled up my sleeves and brought my puckered, scarred skin to his lips. He touched me.

I could tell what was going to happen next as we met eyes.

I never kissed anyone before. I wouldn't call what they did to me 'kissing.'

Gerard just brushed his lips against mine softly, at first.

Suddenly it was fierce. Passionate. Fucking hot.

I'd never imagined this happening. Happening so fast.

This stranger- this man- was moving to fast, though he was being careful... My eyes are shut but I am nervous. His hands brush my hips and I can't breathe.

But as soon as he speaks again, his voice slides warmly into my brain and I relax in his arms, freeing my neck for his tender, passionate kisses.

I shouldn't feel so secure around a man, much older than myself, that I just met.

But I do.

His hands are comfortably grasped around my wrists and my head is layed back quickly. The sudden movements expose and tear at tender scars on my neck. He kisses them softly, pulling away without a trace of disgust on him.

I looked into his eyes though. He is the man I adore. Something about him tells me that he will ensure my destiny. He will light the way. He will be there with me. He will hold me when I cry.

Yet, his hands probed further over me, my hands tightening in anticipation. I haven't brought myself to touch myself in over a year and now my entire heart was pulsing through my pelvis. At this point, it didn't even matter that it was Gerard. It only mattered that someone got close to me and now I can finally let some of it out… in one way.

His hands found their way to my hips, walking me backwards through a door. He comfortably brushed against my scars. My knees buckled under me as they hit the bed. Falling backwards, I clung to Gerard.

I'm not sure if it was for safety or need.

We kissed ferociously, a feral growl growing in Gerard's throat every time my knees brushed against his crotch.

In one quick movement, and without asking, he pulled my pants down.

It was going too fast. Too familiar. My scars where scattered down my legs, and Gerard didn't even look at them. He didn't help me like he did before. He wasn't being nice. I didn't want to stop, though. I let him keep going.

He spit in his hand viciously, and without hesitation, he went strait for my opening.

All the memories came flooding back. Every touch, every sting. The pain, the blood. I couldn't help it. I screamed.

"Stop." I uttered the one word. He was surprised by my sudden outburst. "Please, stop." I could feel tears brimming my eyes as I said it again. It's so nostalgic. Before I could open my mouth again, I felt a hard slap against my cheek, the print burning a whole in my heart. I opened my eyes to see Gerard's eyes change from green to deep black.

All I could feel was a flood of regrets.

His hand grasped my shoulder and I flew against him, knocking my head against his shoulder. Suddenly I was afraid of him again. He didn't even make it seem like he cared for me. He didn't even apologize. he just walked away.

I turned over and started sobbing into the pillow, the soggy pillow pressing to my cheeks when I gasped for breath. It was at least two am when he came to sooth me. His hand landed softly on the curve of my face and his voice enveloped me in calamity. I winced slightly when he pulled up the blankets and slid in next to me, scruffy hair at my shoulder.

"Goodnight, love. Don't cry. It's okay."

My sobs faded into his chest and eventually, I peacefully drifted off.

In the morning I realized what I had done the day before. Sleeping after what happened had restored my guard. I finally got to think over everything he did to me and I was convinced I would have to walk out that door before I was killed.

My reflection in the mirror taunted me greatly. The skin beneath my eye and on my cheekbones was purpling and swelling, causing restriction. I don't like mirrors. Staring at my scared up broken little body disgusts me. I know I'm not perfect. But then again what is perfect? Is it what idiotic fashion designers describe it as? Pretty eyes, nice body, and so much makeup you can paint a fucking house with it? Who are those people to decide what's pretty and what's isn't? But I do know one thing... I'm fucking ugly. I have the mirror to let me know that. Mirrors... They tell the REAL truth.

I grabbed my suitcase and Gerards shirt while he slepts. I was so dumb for thinking I could make it out the door. As i turned the rickety door nob, there was suddenly a loud noise behind me.

"Leaving so soon?"

" are you going to hurt me?."

He cupped my face in his hands and let out a boastful laugh. Soon the bridge of his nose was brushing against mine and our lips had met without hesitance.

He never did answer my question.

"I said, are you going to fucking hurt me? Let me out." I spat in his face. I'm scared by my own defiance.

He took two steps towards me, crashing our lips together. It was much like the kiss we shared the night before.

It scared me.

It was not tender.

He grabbed my waist tightly, connecting our hips.

I yelped as he dug his nails into my old battle scars.

He then loosened his grip, pecking me on the lips.

What did he want?

And why the fuck did I love him?

It wasn't until later when I realized something was really up, when I noticed the extent of offense my actions had brought him. And when night crashed against the new York skyline, I found myself struggling free from bondage, tight, brown, grimy ropes digging into my scars.

"I won't hurt you, Frank. Never would I hurt you." he whispered, pulling me into a hug.

He picked me up. I thought he was taking me to the bed.

All those thoughts vanished when I felt him tumble me down the basement stairs.

My mind completely went blank as I felt the thick ropes tie tightly around my wrists and ankles.

"Gerard please untie me! I promise not to try and leave!"

He shook his head and kissed me.

Why did I ever go with a stranger? Why won't he stop? Why do I... Love him?

Doesn't he see how disturbingly horrid I am? My scars? Doesn't he assume that something has made me this way?

He lit a match which illuminated his face, a genuine smile carved into his lips.

"Frank... Let me teach you a little thing about revenge."


	6. I'll never let them hurt you

It soon became obvious that something was wrong with the both of us. I was surprised to find I had not even subconsciously struggled against my ties, and Gerard has not been able to finish a sentence without going into a momentary process of pacing, hands running through his dark hair. I couldn't piece together why I found myself mesmerized by his quite individual gait, the way he swayed even when angry. The way he would run his hands through his hair and bite his lip. Like a secret was pushing it's way through his trap and he was struggling to restrain something that could harm both of us.  
The flames of fear that burn through the back of my mind are suppressed by a fluttery feeling in my stomach, dare I call it love. The liquid feeling of smirking bled into my mouth as Gerard turned to me to open his mouth again, his filter failing him greatly as the words slipped right over his lips, dripping like honey, my mind racing to put them together.

"I'm going to kill."  
It took one statement to sky rocket me back into reality. I was suddenly panicked, kicking frantically at the floor like I had the possibility to melt into the shadows. The alarm went off in my head like the maniac roar of a crowd, Gerard's warm eyes watching me in amusement, taunting me as it clicked in my mind; He reminded me of everything I used to be. Full of ambition and joy and amusement and hate, hes what I could have been. ...And he's crazy. He emits a want for revenge.  
" I'm going to kill everyone who made me this way."  
My eyes flecked over to him, trying to find a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He was theatrical in everything he said, leaning down close to me, lips beckoning me to join his side. Why did I trust him? My stomach fell sick in confusion, eyes darting between him and the ties, raspy noises failing to be caught by my lips.  
Then he turned to me, growling.  
Things then became all too similar. He fell to his knees in front of me, leaning forward and planting reassuring kisses across my neck, grasping my tied wrists and pushing them over my head.  
"No..." I said quietly, voice straining. I didn't want this man; who's practically nothing but an insane stranger, to become angry with my fearsome pleading. His grip slowly loosened as he pulled away, eyes narrowing.  
" who made YOU this way?"  
I would've responded if I had the chance. My throat had gone dry and my jaw locked, refusing to move, sending aching pains through my head. My breathing pace had quickened, and it wasn't long before my eyes where blurry with tears, the corners fading into a thick, black darkness. My toes curled, and that was the last thing I felt before; nothing.

I woke up just where I had fallen asleep the night before, not sure if the occurrences of the other "day" had been nothing but a nightmare; my conscience trying to push through the fluttery feelings that swarm my stomach when I think of Gerard's voice, or the way he had saved me the first day I met him. I honestly don't know what I would have done without him. Someone could've stolen my money. But he saw something in me, as did I in him when I awoke from that panic on the subway. Now I was slightly frightened, the events I recalled from my dream seem all too real. I can almost smell the pungent odor of that dark room. But there was no place like that in an innocent mans home. I know Gerard would never hurt me. He'd never let someone hurt me. I felt my skin crawl at the idea of Gerard turning on me. There was something so strong and nice in him; I refuse to blame him of trying to hurt me because of what happened years ago.  
I kicked the covers over the lip of the bed slowly, feeling my skin contract against my sudden movements. I usually just sleep, or cut, or think. My body isn't used to this much movement, the strain against the puckered lines of the scars was something new and painful. Shuffling slowly down the hallway, I examined my arms for rope-burns, hoping not to run into Gerard who could become suspicious of my paranoia. I didn't want to explain to him all the brutal things they did to me. I almost didnt want him to acknowledge the scars. I wanted him to create more of these new feelings. It's amazing to feel a break from all the anger.

Im sitting in his room when he gets home. It's shortly after I woke up, and I didn't bother to ask where he had been. I loved the little amount knowledge we had on each other. There was nothing but mutual trust.  
He looked a bit hurt when he walked in on me counting my money on the floor of his room. I sifted through wads and grazed my fingers slowly over the edges, smiling at my inventory. 6 thousand dollars, every single one there. It seemed that Gerard didn't even touch my belongings, let alone take my money for his own. I smiled up at him.  
"What are you doing?" he chuckled, holding a cup of coffee tightly.  
"Counting."  
"Where did you get all of th-" I cut him short,  
"Shh..."  
He smiled and sat on the bed, crossing his ankles and kicking off his dirt-smudged boots. He put his hand on my shoulder and I winced, feeling him tap softly against my scars, as if counting, too.  
"Frank?" he said slowly, hesitating before finishing his question. "Why do you trust me?"  
I looked up at him, almost hurt by the question. Was he testing my trust? Was he trying to scare me? Or was he really one I shouldnt trust?  
"Because you didn't hurt me."  
"I almost did. I'm a fucking jackass."  
"No. You're a hero. You dont know old me; I don't let anyone touch me." I shrugged and his hand fell from my shoulder, a slight "oh." escaping his lips.  
"But... Frank... What if I'm not the good guy. What if I'm the villain."  
He said it like a statement, like he was affirming that his intentions where bad. I just smiled, my heart racing slightly, head lightening.  
"You can't be. You wouldn't be, right?" I was suddenly on my feet, staring down at him, paranoia and anger slipping into my voice. " You can't do that to me..." I whisper, eyes becoming quickly blurry, followed by a warm tear sliding down my cheek. Suddenly my feet where carrying me to the bathroom, determined to fix this, determined to go back to being just the sad little numb boy. It was time to numb Gerard away. What was I thinking!? trusting a stranger. Just because he cared. This was going to get me in trouble. What if he was one of the ones who hurt me in the first place? I couldn't remember all of their faces. There was a mental block there. I didn't want to remember their faces. And maybe that's why Gerard seemed so... Familiar.  
I dropped to my knees with the thought, gripping the toilet seat with one hand and shakily sliding my fingers over my wet, slick, tongue, pressing, encouraging some gags, trying to get the food he gave me out. I almost scratched frantically at the back of my throat; then finally, my mouth dropped open and liquid came spraying slowly into the toilet. I smiled in content, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I couldn't shake the devious smile from my face. I could feel myself move with no thoughts behind it, searching the cabinets for scissors, some kind of shaving blade, something. I finally found some barber sheers, licking my lip slowly. Suddenly, Gerard's voice crept Through the door.  
"I know you want to be alone.. But can I please come in?"  
With that I plunged the sharp tip against my skin, sliding it quickly across,cutting it like butter. I was so glad to see the split scar tissue, I didn't even notice Gerard had opened the door until he was next to me, grabbing a first aid kit silently. My mouth fell open numbly, watching him grab my hand and close the toilet, sitting me down on the cold surface. He slowly wrapped gauze around my wound, tightly, kissing it before securing it with white medical tape. He looked up at me and leaned forward slowly, planting a soft kiss on my lips. I watched in silent suffering as he just got up and walked away.  
He was sure a strange man.


	7. If you where here, I'd never have a fear

The sky was so distorted in this memory that I don't even remember if it was day or night. I was laughing in drunken haze, looking around briefly before recognizing the scene. The still stench of death was spread across the sky which hung mockingly, taunting, all knowing. It wasnt long before I was running, but the feeling was nipping at my heels. I felt it when it grasped me, dragging me into a place, a memory which extinguished all traces of hope and innocence; replacing it with sickening memories of _adultery_.

I woke up in a feverish sweat. My heart pounding at an abnormal rate, my lungs gasping for air. I was very happy to find myself laying on plush, itchy blankets, staring at the same ceiling I fell asleep to, the wooden fans shadow whisking across the room.

I tried to block it out for a while during my time sitting there, curling my toes and watching the blank ceiling. I tried everything, _anything_, to block out the memory. I tweedled my thumbs, closing my eyes and preparing to slowly put the pieces together.

It's not that I'm scared of the dream itself, it's that it felt so real.

Like it was happening all over again. I don't really want to have these recollections. I didn't want to be shattered or scarred or disturbed. I just want to be _normal_.

I just don't want to be broken.

Shaking slightly in anxious anticipation and fear, I slung one leg over the side of the bed.

For some odd reason my legs where letting me ride through the cold draft of the hallway, a hint of nostalgia swimming at the back of my mind when I realized I was re-routing to my childhood safety of crawling in silently to someone's bed.

I turned the corner and examined the still, bleak room.

Gerard's door was cracked open very slightly. I stood there a moment contemplating my next moves, not sure how he would react if a repulsive creature like me climbed into bed with him. My hands slowly tapped the door open further, my leg slipping past the doorway.

My thoughts were broken with the sound of soft gasps coming from within the bedroom. I'm not exactly the poster boy for the word innocent. I clearly understood what was going on. Im no child.

Gerard was emitting not fearful gasps,not pain enduced groans, but moans _drenched_ in ecstasy.

He was.. Pleasuring himself.

By now I've grown fairly attracted to this man, for I find him trustworthy and kind. But there _is _the part of him I hope is only a dream. The cruel and sadistic side.

The noises got louder and I could find myself getting bothered and hot. The jeans that had been protecting my body with where growing slowly tight, and with all of my courage I peeked my head in the door.

"Gerard?" I whispered. The noises stopped yet I could hear his breath in the still darkness.

"Yes?" his tone was sort of breathless, like he'd been running. I gulped and walking into the room further, closing the door behind me.

"I had a bad _dream_.." I trailed off.

"Oh Frank.." he whispered with sympathy and excitment, gesturing for me to come join him in bed.  
"I want you next to me, now.."

I felt my eyebrows jump up, slowly creeping across the floor. My mind was racing, trying to remember how it felt to feel pleasure, trying to figure out just how I should respond to this.

I sat down slowly on the silky sheets, the mattress barely sinking under my extremely light weight. My hand suddenly fell upon his lovely chest, moonlight pale in the radiant light flooding in through the window. I slowly drew lazy circles, tracing down his chest, teeth digging into my lip. I leaned down, whispering slowly in his ear.

"P-Please Gerard, moan for me, show me it can feel good..."

with that, I slowly followed my line to his shaft, grasping it firmly.

His mouth cocked open, a low, restrained moan flooding the air. My hand slowly stroked up his length, _god was he large_, palming his head slowly. What was I doing? I didn't know- but I liked it. I was experiencing teenage lust the way it _should_ be experienced...

With a stranger or not.

His comicly small teeth shuttered down to bite his lip, a breathy moan sliding out into the silence. I slowly lowered my head to his erection, tongue exploring below his head, hands pumping slowly. My dick was twitching in my pants, I was packing heat there, yet I went on like this, mouth eventually wrapping around his entire girth, following my quickening pumps, finger twisting slightly when reaching the head. I moaned for vibrations. I didnt understand how I was _suddenly knowledgable_ in blowjobs, when I have considered myself straight for 17 years.

I felt him tighten around me, the loudest, shattering moan ringing out wildly. I felt a slow feeling of pleasure creeping stealthily around my cock, Gerards breath becoming ragged and uneven as he begins to _quiver_ around me, tightening and quick, thick ropes of hot, sticky fluids flooding into my mouth, the taste so pleasing, my mouth tightening greatly to encourage a ridden out orgasm. As soon as I pulled away, my cock exploded, pulsing in my pants, so close that it isn't even fair when it starts to come out, palm quickly pressing against my jeans, hips bucking, moaning loudly, jeans adhering to my thighs, too hot and pleasured to care.

As we lay in the aftermath of our current doing, I thought,

The whole time our act felt so sensual, loving. This was the first act of 'love' I've ever committed with Gerard and maybe one of the scariest things I've done. I never thought I would let anyone ever touch me in any way after what happened. But I was suddenly invincible from nightmares, rapists, killers, and madness. I was with Gerard.

Have you ever laid with someone, being spoons? In this case I was the smaller spoon as he curled his larger body over my own and whispered nothing's into my ear.

"Your beautiful" he said, and despite my disbelief, I smiled, too.

We shared warmth between our bodies and giggled and whispered for what seemed like hours until his steady strokes up and down my arms became a memory and I fell into a sleep.

I woke up with a heavy arm slung across my hip. I smiled at the thoughts of last night, his taste in my mouth lingering. Closing my eyes, I pressed myself to his warm, comforting body, feeling his chest heave against me.

Moments later, I could feel the sheets stir as he sat up, mattress lifting around me.

Quickly thinking, I chose to fake sleep, to see what he would do of course. He removed his hand from my hip and curled a strand of hair around my ear.

I was surprised when he kissed me, softly at first then wanting entrance. I opened my eyes and gave into it; wrapping my arms around his neck and sitting up slightly.

"Let's go for a walk." he said, not breaking the kiss but merely speaking against my mouth. Surprised and Breathless, I nodded into his neck, hands slowly exploring his back, feeling over every single mark and bump and cell, weaving myself into him for a moment before pulling away.

Thirty minutes later, after gathering up some warmer clothes and pulling on Gerard's old boots we were out the door. At first I was frightened, of being outside and around people. But as I clung to Gerard's side matching his steps with my own, I felt undefeatable.

Gerard was so at ease, smiling a people and popping his gum. There was a skip in his step as he smiled down at me, the sun grazing over my milky skin for the first time in ages, a vacant expression as I stared into the crowds, like I didn't need to even think about the dangers now.

Our walk wasn't anything special, just a quick route around the park and to grab some cafe food. We threw stale bread to the birds and sat on the benches; like a _couple._

Was that what we are now?

A couple?

It seemed as though we were.

We were engaging in sexual acts and being romantic together; it only made sense. But there was the side of Gerard that comes out that I'm still afraid of, even though im not 100% _sure it exists._

We made our way back to the house, Gerard claiming how starving he was. I hadn't eaten in some time, seeing as how I still don't trust the man or anyone completely, so as Gerard slowly drained his soup bowl,

I sipped bottled water from across the table.

Things got quiet, as I wasn't talking anymore. There wasnt sunshine, and there was no reason for Gerard to create that would supply that physical safety I tend to long for.

It seemed too dense in the room, he glared at me every now and then; making me feel uncomfortable.

"Why _are_ you this way?" his voice was stern but there was a bit of softness around the edges.

I cast him a worried glance, and took a sip of water. No way in hell was I telling him anything.

He wouldn't understand, no one does, no one sees why it took me so long to even tab it as traumatic instead of just my own fault.

He hid his frown at my silence behind his soup bowl, yet I could still see the ends of his happy smile fold into a frown.

"Frank. Tell me." he said in a harsh voice, getting up and advancing towards me. "Who made you this way, Frank." he pulled me up, touch soft, but tone implying someything diar. eye level with me now, I could feel his hot breath against my lips. "Please." he said, voice and anger now weakened by a powerful case of sympathy.

I suddenly let the tears I had been hiding from him roll down my face. He cupped my face with his hand, stroking it with the other. Gerard cooed in my hair as he pulled me onto him, seizing the space between us, physically and mentally with light touches, kisses, and wiping of tears.

"Shh..." he whispered slowly in my ear.

We slowly descended to the floor, him picking up my pieces, tightly lulling me.

After what seemed like hours of sobbing, I choked out my response.

"I was fucking raped, Gerard, and not in a stopped in the alley way, in a ill-kidnap-you-and-rape-you-nonstop-for-3-weeks-and-if-you-tell-anyone-I'll-murder-your-mother way." I choked out, breath falling ragged and short. I crushed my eyes closed. "I was fucking raped and now I'm ugly. I'm so- so fucking ugly Gerard." I pushed myself off of him, starting to lift my sleeves up. "Look at the scars Gerard- look what they did to me. I'm a fucking monster because of this and it will never go away!" I was yelling now, fingers picking at the protective scabs over my latest cuts. "Leave him alone!"

I screamed to the demons in my head, chanting as my fingers fell limp.

"IM _UGLY_, GERARD." I screamed with the last of my attention. My knees buckled underneath me, sending me to the floor. I could feel the darkness grasping me, pulling me deeper. I knew I was spiraling down into my own thoughts. The memories come flooding back as the darkness sweeps over my vision and the last thing I hear is Gerard's faint whisper.

"I will take revenge on everyone who did this to you."

It was way too much like a dream.


	8. All the Lies in the Book

**WE ARE MISOMANIACS - CHAPTER 7**

This time, when I awoke, I was laying in the soft sheets of Gerard's bed, nestled against mounds of plush and welcoming white. The sun was filing in through the blinds, illuminating the dusky room and soothing me as reality crawled its way under my tightly buttoned sleeves.  
What happened last night? I faintly remember the day before, I had a nice day with Gerard. It was the day I felt happy. Indestructible.  
The night, however, is foggy. There was only one thing I remember. Possibly the worst thing you could have in a memory like that.  
"I will take revenge on whoever did this to you."  
That lines was the only clear thing I remember from the night before. There were so many questions swaddled it,and it scared the fuck out of me.  
Those same lines were spoken once before in a different context. A different setting; a different time.  
I was so zoned out, I didn't notice Gerard had quietly entered the room.  
The bed sank with his weight when he sat beside me, swinging his legs up onto the plush mattress. I felt Gerard's hand creep his way onto my waist, and his body pressed warmly against mine; my thoughts blurred and I was left alone with Gerard in the real world. Facing reality.  
Once I really turned to face him, eyes really open, he was smiling, almost sneering. "whats so funny?" I chuckled anxiously, watching his teeth graze over his plump lips as he smiled.  
"You are," he said, lifting his lips to my cheek and placing soft kisses over my skin.  
I shrugged, not understanding what was so funny.  
"Gerard?" I said, lifting my hand to his cheek to slowly graze my thumb in circles over his cheek bones.  
"Yes, love?" he said, his head tipping.  
"Can you promise you won't ever hurt me?" I demanded, watching his eyes stay open and honest.  
"Yes," he smiled. "Can you?"  
I shook my head no.  
I couldn't.  
Everything I touch turns to madness. I have done terrible things and I didn't want to hurt Gerard further by telling him he was safe as my friend, because he wasn't. Nothing in my grasp is safe. But he just shrugged, hand grazing behind him and grasping something, placing a cold, white plate in front of me.  
The aroma of bacon and sugar-coated toast filled my nose and my stomach rolled in hunger. My long, bony fingers nudged the roll and then actually slowly grasped a piece of bacon, lifting it to my mouth and snaking my tongue out to meet it. It tasted smoky and juicy, much better than any food I had in days. I smiled and looked at Gerard with happiness bleeding over my face. I took a bit of the toast and nudged the plate towards Gerard with two fingers.

"Im full. Help yourself, Gee."  
He smiled slightly and set the plate on the nightstand.  
"Why don't you eat?" his hand curled warmly around my hip, his thumb rubbing my hipbone slightly.  
I smiled a little and shook my head.  
It's not that I'm not hungry. I fucking am. But if I eat then I'll feel ugly; more so than I already do. I will get fat and repulsive. This beautiful man seems to be at least a little interested in me, so I might as well try my hardest to not look like a monster.  
I shrugged his question from my plate, rubbing the bud of my lips together, trying to plug away a question of my own.  
" What happened last night?" I asked, watching his face fall slightly grim. He cleared his throat and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer too him, only a thin wave of sheets between us.  
"Nothing to be afraid of. You're safe."  
My eyebrows crinkled in confusion.  
"You've said those words before." his expression suddenly became unreadable.  
"What makes you think that?" he asked wearily, watching me carefully.  
"Nevermind..."  
"You're gonna have to tell me sooner or later." he said, looking me in the eyes. I whimpered and buried my face in his neck. "Can I?" he spoke softly as his hand hit my fly.  
For the third time that morning I shook my head. But this time; it was a yes.  
His hand slowly explored me, careful over my scarred skin. The waist band of my pants was soon nudged over my bony hips. His fingers slowly hooked around the edges of my boxers. I didn't realize how hard he was until I turned to him, his eyes contently watching my reaction to each nudge closer to my dick. My entire legs where buzzing with heat and electricity, a fuzzy feeling of pleasure growing quickly as his fingers slowly spread my legs. My head slowly tilting back, neck revealing from beneath my shirt and shag. His lips lurched forward, landing on the sensitive part of my neck, below my ear. A sly moan slipped through my lips, a shuddering leaking through my body. His hand tugged off my shirt slowly, tossing it aside. I glanced over at his crotch. He was packing heat, really. Suddenly, he was on top of me, hips pressed against mine. The denim of his pants hit me slightly, reminding me terribly of the people who.. R-Raped me...  
I went soft slowly. It felt good, it did, but my head was pulsing and pounding. My eyes became flooded with tears, choking back my hope. "No!" I yelped and with a surge of might, pushed him from me.  
I rolled onto my back and covered my bare shoulders with the sheet.  
Of course this would happen, I should have known.  
I can't do anything right and it's ruining the chances I have with the guy I... The guy I love.  
It may be messed up and a little weird, but I love him and I don't know how to stop.  
I don't want to stop.  
He could save me from the nothing I've become.  
Gerard sat up from the bed behind me and started pulling on his clothes. I crushed my eyes closed. This is all my fault, maybe if I weren't such a pussy, I could make him happy.  
I'll never make him happy though, because it feels like I will never be able to be with him like that.  
As the thoughts welled in my brain, tears swelled in my eyes, causing a few to run down my cheek.  
I thought that for a moment Gerard would stop getting dressed and comfort me, but as I heard him tug on his shirt and close the door, I knew I was wrong.  
I waited for the front door to close before getting up.  
My hands grasped around the sink, looking at myself in anger at the mirror. He didn't understand, fuck, how could I expect him to? No one ever would. Nice try, game fucking over.  
I would claw my skin off if I could. I was so fucking disgusting. Every thing in me was falling apart. He's the only one who would ever make me feel beautiful, and I can't ever please him. My fingers slowly crept over the bar of soap, scrubbing at my skin until it turned pink beneath the suds, then red, deepening to a constricted purple. Slowly the skin began to tear slightly under the pressure, little beads of blood surfacing sweetly. I dropped the bar of soap. I wasn't ever going to wash the burden of the experience from nipping at my heels.

I waited an hour before I moved. Angrily, quickly, I walked into Gerard's room and stripped myself of clothing. I needed to be bare. I needed to face myself.  
I plopped into the inviting silk. I wanted to be alone. Face to face with the reality of how horrid I was. I miss the days when my parents would annoy me constantly about how I was feeling. Honestly. It may have peeved me, but it's a lot better than being isolated from anyone who cared, left with your own thoughts that will never leave your head. They even fucking tucked me in, for fucks sake. They would ask if I mind that, but I knew if I said yes they'd assume I was being mischievous, and would push me until I become even more terribly cross. Sometimes I wish I could slip out of the skin of who I was. Dress up like a man, who had nothing to hide but the money in his wallet and the affair he would probably be having with his mistress. Live the high class life for a day, with no sense of angst or even having to work. Having everything dished out to you, even just for a moment, would be the break I desire. I wonder how it would feel to have that taken away.  
We all know that the old argument, "Don't be sad, you're not a poverty ridden child in Africa!" is so cold because they never knew anything but that. They don't have a level of hope that normal lives lead us to. We have the opportunity to have everything, and have it taken away. Which is much worse than people give it credit for. It's in no way selfish to desire suicide. We all want a taste of freedom. What other way, than to leave the people who pretended to love you in the dust? The red washing down may not change the color of the sea at all, but face forward dive into death would cause a flood of despair throughout anyones life you even brushed with your finger tips.  
I looked across the room, scoping for my latest disguise. I couldn't take the puckered ruts anymore. I want to be dressed in satin before I eat the dust. I want to make a masterpiece the moment I eat the bullet.  
The closet door was slightly ajar and all too perfectly intriguing and timely than I'm able to roll off my back. My fingers curled around the edge as I slowly nudged it open. It's funny. I stood in fear of some kind of monster inside. They say that when you want to die, nothing scares you. But monsters do exist. Monsters are inside us, and that's why you should be fearful of them. They'll eat you alive.  
Inside the dark closet was an array of clothes. I had to bite back a Mozart melody as I slipped on silk, throwing my rags of clothes to the floor. I turned to the closet, pulling on a pair of black jeans. All his close fit me dangerously loosely. I'm so tiny. I take pride in that.  
Leaning down slowly to grab a belt, I nudged a blouse of a white box. Shoes? That would go pleasantly. In fact, greatly. I lifted the lid slowly, peeling back the tissue paper. Suddenly, a gasp erupted from my chest. It was a gun. Gerard has a gun. Oh my fucking god, oh my god. The box dropped from my hands quickly, as I skittered up against the bed. In the corner of my eye was a dark figure. I hesitantly turned my head slowly, face frozen in a pale gape. Gerard was home.

* * *

I'm sorry for not updating sooner. School started. I promise my updates will be a lot faster now. Love you guys.

**xosobergamzee**


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